Blackout
by Bookworm Kate
Summary: Foyle's War - With a little help from Brookie, Sam finds herself able to confront the feelings she holds for her boss. Inadvertently, he might just help Foyle too. 'Ship: Brookie/Sam, but mostly Sam/Foyle
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I've always loved the interaction between Brookie and Sam, but was glad that theirs remained a friendship. I've played about with the character here a bit. We'll see where it leads! Feedback is always welcome!

As always, no copyright infringements intended.

* * *

BLACKOUT

Chapter 1

The windscreen wipers beat a furious rhythm against the rain. _Swish, squeak; swish, squeak_. Samantha Stewart leaned forward over the wheel of the Wolseley and peered out, trying to make out the road ahead. The pitch dark of the blackout didn't help, nor did the special blackout headlamps, and they kept a slow and steady pace.

DCS Foyle glanced over, and seeing his driver's concentration asked, "All right, Sam?"

"Tickety-boo, sir, not to worry, we'll get there in one piece."

"Glad to hear it," murmured Foyle, pushing up the brim of his trilby hat, resisting the urge to rub his forehead.

Sergeant Brooke leaned forward from the back seat, "Coo, haven't see a night as black as this in ages."

"I'd better give you a lift home then, Brookie," said Sam cheerfully. She did not notice the wistful look come into Foyle's face. He quickly turned to look out at the rain.

"Did you both have a nice time this evening?" Sam went on, still maneuvring the car carefully around each corner.

Foyle chewed his bottom lip, thinking about the Hasting's Constabulary Fundraiser Benefit they had been to. Many familiar faces had been there, and someone had scrounged up a few bottles of something half decent. It hadn't been an _unpleasant_ evening, but it wasn't his first choice of ways to pass the time. He'd had to make the expected speech, shake lots of hands and smile. And Sam kept being swept away to meet people and chat with young constables. Brookie had kept her occupied most of the evening too. He cleared his throat, realizing what he had just said to himself.

Luckily Brookie spoke up, repeating moments he had particularly enjoyed. Listening to him was like seeing the evening again on a picture screen, Foyle thought. With Sam as the leading lady. He cleared his throat again. What on earth had been in that bottle of stuff?

"Are you all right, sir?" Sam asked, giving him a searching look.

"Yes, thank you, just the night air." He stared back out at the night intently and pulled at his tie. He felt quite surprised at himself, as well as slightly concerned.

All too soon, Sam said, "Here we are, sir."

Foyle leaned forward as the car came to a rolling stop. "Right, well thank you for a lovely evening." The last bit of his sentence was swept away as Brookie opened the back door and jumped out. The rain thundered on the pavement. Foyle looked at Sam and twitched his lips. Right, he thought to himself. He felt the moment was passing so he thought he ought to say something. "Erm…" he began.

Before he could go on, his door opened and Brookie stood holding an umbrella he had somehow conjured up.

Foyle bit his lip and thought grimly, "Bloody efficient sergeant." He stepped out into the wet night, pulling his jacket close around him. "Nevermind, Sergeant, it is only a few steps, you get back in."

Brookie grinned back at him, "Right you are, sir. Pleasant evening."

Foyle nodded and turned quickly up his front steps. Once he stepped inside he looked back, raising his hand to wave. But it went unnoticed as Sam had turned her attention to Brookie, talking at top speed. Foyle let his hand fall as he looked regretfully at the retreating, shaded lights of the glistening car. A sudden emptiness came to him, right in the pit of his stomach, threatening to wash over him entirely. He shook his head crossly and went indoors, having only the small satisfaction of slamming the door quite forcefully.

* * *

Sam pulled away from Steep Lane, chattering freely in Brookie's easy company. They talked about the Benefit and he made her laugh with his stories about some of the constables she had met.

"Oh you should've known _me_ as a Constable, Miss. I was incorrigible according to my Superintendent."

Sam giggled, "I bet you were a right terror, Brookie."

"I was, Miss Stewart," he said solemnly, " I was indeed. Once me and a mate of mine put worms in our sergeant's milk, just to see his face."

"Oh you didn't, Brookie, that's such a waste!" Sam said in mock horror.

"Well this was before the War, wasn't it," Brookie said seriously, "And this sergeant didn't like a joke. We thought we get our own back a bit, see, because he'd had us up before the Super' a few times for mischief and the like."

Sam nodded to show she was listening.

"Right, so we put the worms in, yeah, and what do you know, Sergeant goes in, makes a cuppa, and one for the Superintendent too!"

"No," said Sam with a small squeal.

"Yep, so there we are, thinking we'd get a right old show, and instead we was quaking in our boots, thinking we would be out on the street by lunchtime. They set to drinking and what does the Super' say?"

"What?"

Brookie put on a nasally voice, "Well, Sergeant, I must say you make a most interesting cup of tea."

" 'Yes, sir?' he says," went on Brookie, "And then _he_ says, 'Yes.' Plonks the cup on the table and there, floating on top, is the worm, looking happy as Larry." Brookie finished with laugh and looked rather pleased with himself.

"But what did you do?" Sam asked.

"We scarpered of course!" Brookie grinned. "Poor old Sergeant didn't know what to do, kept apologizing and had one hell of a go at the milkman the next day, I can tell you."

"Brookie, you rotter," Sam said affectionately. She pulled the car close to Brookie's billet and yanked the hand break.

"Well here we are. Don't get drenched."

"Will you be all right getting back, Miss? I could drive you home and take the car back to the station myself."

"I think I'll put the car at my place tonight. I don't fancy walking anywhere in this."

"No." Brookie paused, looking suddenly at a loss for words.

He smiled nervously, "Sam, can I be very forward for a moment?"

She looked at him in surprise, "Of course." She felt a slight flutter in her stomach and her pulse quickened.

"May I kiss you? You know, as a thank you for driving out of the way, and the nice evening, and putting up with me and the lads and our jokes." Brookie said this all very quickly.

Sam smiled and laughed softly. "I think I should like that, Brookie."

She heard her blood pounding in her ears as he leaned in. He took her face in his hand, tilting her chin towards him. He brushed a few stray strands of hair away, thinking how lovely she looked with her hair down. He was nervous, but felt that melt away as soon as their lips touched.

Brookie had meant not to linger, but make it a quick kiss so Sam wouldn't feel he was being overly fresh, but she kissed him back with such fervour that he couldn't break himself free. He was both surprised and pleased.

Sam liked kissing. Andrew had been quite good at it. Joe had not, and Brookie was a nice in-between. She liked that he tasted of cigarettes and was thrilled when he flicked his tongue questioningly along her lips. He pulled her to him and before she knew it, she was sat across his lap, kissing him passionately.

Her hands were in his dark, close-cropped hair and she felt how soft it was between her fingers. When his lips whispered over her cheek and onto her neck, Sam threw her head back, guiding him down to her breasts. She wasn't sure why she had done so, but it felt lovely, feeling him against her like that. He worked his hand down her back and onto her knee, wanting desperately to find the forbidden warmth below her blue skirt. His desire was close to getting the better of him. Brookie looked up at her, finding Sam's lips and crushing them. He grinned wickedly and they laughed softly together.

She traced his smile lines with her fingers, leaning in to kiss him again. She felt the urgency behind his lips now.

"You are beautiful, Samantha Stewart," Brookie said softly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

His breath became shallow as his hands wandered freely. That familiar feeling inside Sam began to rise and she felt a similar urgency, one she did not understand. It was a feeling she felt when the other man who had been in the car that evening gave her certain looks. Looks that seemed to go right through her and send shivers of pleasure down her spine. Or when he touched her absently, handing over files, or when his arm knocked against hers. Or when he would let his hand sit just behind her shoulder, resting on the back of the bench of the Wolseley. This recognition made her slightly afraid and she paused.

Brookie smiled reassuringly, "Sam we don't need to do anything you don't want to do."

Her face dropped, "I do." She paused again, "But I don't."

She put her head against Brookie's chest, burrowing in. "Oh you must think me a terrible girl, teasing you like this."

Brookie was surprised at the amount of feeling behind her words and he stroked her hair, saying gently, "Not at all, Sam, I do understand you know."

She pulled away to look at him, "Do you? Do you really?" She looked miserable, "Because it is so complicated. I do like you Brookie, very much so, but… I find that I have feelings for another, ones I shouldn't, you see, and…" Tears welled in her eyes.

He sighed and smiled down at her. "As much as I have dreamt of kissing you, and as much as I want to make love to you right now, I think I've known from day one on the job, love. It was clear as day to me."

It was Sam's turn to be surprised and she gave him a worried look. "But I hardly knew myself. I mean I tried not to, he is…" she broke off, unable to find the words.

Brookie kissed her gently on the cheek, and said seriously, "In times like these, when you have feelings for someone, you've got to go for it."

He winked, "And that's not just me trying to have my way."

Sam smiled weakly.

"For all we know the next day's bombing raid could take them away," Brookie continued, "And you'd always regret never having said what you thought."

"But what if he doesn't feel the same way? In fact, I'm sure he wouldn't. It would ruin everything," Sam wailed.

Chuckling slightly, Brookie said, "You didn't see the way he was looking at you tonight. He may not know it himself, but he feels something all right."

Sam looked both astonished and relieved.

"Brookie," she said, wiping her nose, "How on earth do you know people so well?"

He grinned cheekily, "Oh natural talent. You should have seen my neck of the woods, love, that place will teach you to read people right quick." He gave her a squeeze. "Sleep on it, think it over, and then decide."

Sam nodded, sniffing.

"And perhaps you are right, Sam, maybe things should be left as they are, but only you can make that decision."

She nodded again. "We'll be all right though, won't we? You don't hate me?"

Brookie laughed, "No! It only makes me want you more."

"I've been so unfair to you." Sam said, still miserable.

"Well, I can think of a way you can make it up to me," Brookie said and winked again.

Pulling a face, she punched him playfully.

"Nevermind, Sam. It's for the best and it is fine. I will be my usual self behind the desk tomorrow, and I hope you will be too."

She nodded, smiling. "Yes, of course. You are lovely though, Brookie. Thank you."

He smiled sadly, "As are you, Miss Stewart."

Sam hugged him tightly, then slid across back behind the wheel.

Brookie tugged his cap on, touched it, and said goodnight, racing away through the rain.

Sam turned on the car and pulled away, waving. Although she had her doubts, she felt buoyed by Brookie's level headed reasoning. She knew what she would do. Determinedly, she turned the car about and headed back into town. She would drive past Steep Lane, and if the lights were on, she would knock. Otherwise, her sudden resolve might trickle away like the rain.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Tapping the steering wheel absentmindedly, Sam wondered what she would say to Foyle about her feelings for him if indeed the lights were on at his house. As it was, the lights were _out_, so Sam continued past, cursing herself and her feelings. Arriving at her billet, she turned the motor off, but remained sitting, staring out at the pouring rain miserably.

She couldn't decide on what to do. It all seemed like it could only go one way: badly. Mr Foyle couldn't possibly have any reciprocal feelings, no, surely not, and even so, he was her boss. Immense feelings of foolishness kept washing over her as she sat there. Eventually it became too cold, and she shook her head slightly to stir herself. Dashing through the rain to the front door, she reasoned with herself: she would not make her feelings known.

What Brookie had said was true enough, about the bombs and fluidity of life, but she felt such mortification at even the thought of mentioning her feelings to Foyle, that it decided it for her. Sliding into bed, rubbing her feet back to warmth, she cried a little, feeling a bit hopeless. Why on earth couldn't she love a decent, attainable man her own age, like Brookie?

The thought of Brookie's kiss and his hands on her body made her tremble slightly with remembering. It had felt nice, and he was a good man. Sam toyed with the idea of what life would be like married to Brookie – she would still be in touch with Police life at least. He seemed a resourceful sort of chap, and would surely provide a decent home for them. With these comforting thoughts, Sam fell asleep, her dreams dancing in her mind of a small cottage with a faceless man beside the hearth playing chess with bright eyed boys.

* * *

The next day was the sort that poems are written about, with skies washed clean and blue with last night's rain. Foyle poked his head out of his bedroom window briefly, breathing in the sea air and absorbing the sound of the gulls. The dark and wet of the blackout from last night seemed far away. He remembered watching Sam and Brookie driving away and he heard himself sigh.

Pushing thoughts of the two away from his mind, he began to make ready for the day. He contemplated himself in the mirror as he knotted his tie, realising he felt a bit tired, but no worse for wear after the questionable alcohol from the Benefit. That brought his thoughts back around to Sam and the way he had felt all yesterday evening…_jealous_? - surely not. Foyle frowned at his reflection and tutted.

Hearing a smart knock on the door, he hurried down, slipping on his jacket as he stepped onto the front step. Sam smiled up at him, fresh and bright as the day around them. He felt his heart give an involuntary leap.

"Good morning, sir," she said, as always, sliding back into the car.

"Good morning, Sam – what a fine day it is," Foyle heard himself say, "You arrive home all right last night?"

He was surprised to see Sam blush slightly.

"Yes sir," slipping into gear as they pulled away.

"Good." He stopped himself from clearing his throat by biting his lip. There were so many questions bubbling up, all of the answers becoming worse as he contemplated them.

"Brookie got home in one piece too?" he asked, in what he hoped was a casual voice.

"Yes, sir, I drove him back."

He noticed Sam concentrating hard on the road, which was unusual. Not to say that she was not a careful driver, but this was a route they took everyday. Foyle felt compelled to mention it – what if he had said something out of turn last night when all those feelings were whirling around inside him?

"Are you feeling quite yourself, Sam? It's just you seem...er...quite focused."

"On driving, sir? It is my job to get you to and fro safely...sir."

Foyle mentally kicked himself – he should have considered she might take it as an affront rather than concern.

"I would agree, Miss Stewart," he said more sharply than he intended, "I am merely concerned."

She relaxed her grip on the wheel and flicked a quick glance at him.

"Yes sir, thank you. Perhaps a bit tired from a late night."

Foyle nodded, looking out at Hastings rolling by. He had a sudden urge to walk beside the sea.

"Sam, I would like to walk by the beach for a moment – to enjoy the weather a bit before being inside behind a desk for the rest of the day."

Sam half smiled at him, "Jolly good idea, sir." She turned into the next lane, driving down towards the sea front.

Foyle felt pleased with himself. A fresh sea breeze might be just the thing to clear the air between them.

As they rolled to a stop near the pier, Foyle paused before opening the door, "You'll join me, Sam?"

"Thank you, sir, I'd like that."

They both stepped out into the fresh air, each enjoying the feeling of freedom the sun and sea seemed to bring upon the moment. The time for talking, especially in such stilted terms, was over. Her good humour restored, Sam grinned gaily at Foyle before following him down the path towards the beach.

Foyle felt young again, walking along the beach front on a fine day with a lovely young woman at his side. He put his hands in his pockets, gazing out at the fishing boats coming in from their morning's catch. Hard to imagine just across the Channel war was raging. The pebbles shifted under their weight and he bumped unsteadily into Sam.

"Sorry," he grinned sheepishly.

Sam put her arm through his, saying by way of explanation, "Must get you there safely, sir."

They walked on like that for a moment, each hardly believing it to be true - were they really walking _arm in arm_ along the beach? Foyle wondered if he were dreaming.

He said softly, "You are so good to me, my dear Sam, what _would_ I do without you?"

She breathed in sharply, his words sinking in slowly to her mind.

Finally, she said, "Walk to work each day I expect, sir."

Foyle laughed out loud, pulling her closer, "Indeed."

Then Sam added, "But I should be at a loss without _you_, sir, if you don't mind me saying so. And certainly the MTC would have chucked me out by now."

They caught each other's eyes, holding their gaze and reading what lay behind them. If Foyle hadn't nearly tripped again, who knows who might have broken the gaze first? They walked slowly back to the Wolseley, neither wanting to pull away from the other.

On the way to the station, Sam kept glancing over at Foyle only to find him contemplating her with a soft smile, his forefinger resting over his lips. She felt her colour rising, but this time in a most pleasing manner, sending waves of butterflies through her stomach.

The question of what would happen once they actually arrived at the station kept forming at the back of her mind, with the knowledge that she would also have to face Brookie and his supposedly all seeing eye. As they pulled up to the station, Sam felt her heart pounding unlike anything before.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The windows of the station had all been thrown open, letting in the smell of the sea and a cool breeze. Sam followed Foyle into the station, trying to rearrange her face. Not only was she sure to blush in front of Brookie in remembrance of last night, he was also bound to spot the half smile that still remained on Foyle's lips. Taking a deep breath she pulled her gaze up from the floor, hoping it would be over soon. Brookie was there as usual, looking bright and cheerful.

"Not too much to hand over, Mr Foyle," he said, "Seems Hastings is giving us the day to enjoy the sunshine."

Foyle whipped off his trilby, and paused, "Don't be too sure, Sergeant, something usually comes up."

Brookie nodded politely before turning to look at Sam. "Good morning, Miss Stewart, beautiful day, wouldn't you agree?"

He grinned and winked at her.

She grinned back, suddenly feeling at ease, "It is indeed, Brookie."

She leaned over the desk, "You're sure there's nothing interesting? I don't really feel like cleaning the car or checking the plugs for the millionth time..."

"You could make us all a cup of tea?" He suggested, ducking as she threw the morning paper at him.

"Make it yourself." She grinned at him and went to the little kitchenette anyway. There might be a biscuit left somewhere...

* * *

Foyle had witnessed their exchange from the doorway of his office at the end of the hall. He went in and closed the door, thinking and worrying his lower lip.

"She is much better suited for a younger man like Sergeant Brooke," he admitted to himself. The walk on the beach from the morning kept coming to mind, however, and Foyle wondered if this was normal. He hadn't felt so confused and bewildered about what to do in a long time. In fact, he couldn't remember a time when he least knew how to proceed.

Sitting at his desk, he told himself sternly, "Well of course you know how to proceed, you old fool - leave it and don't even think about it." He knew this was the sensible thing, but he couldn't help feel a sort of sadness come over him. Leaning back, he sighed deeply. Bloody sensibility and propriety, he thought; damn it all.

The telephone on his desk shrilled loudly, making the police detective jump right out of his skin. He cursed and picked up the receiver hastily.

"Foyle."

He listened intently, said a few words, and rang off.

Going back into the corridor he nearly collided with Sam, who was carrying a steaming cup of tea. She jolted, sending most of the hot liquid dripping over the saucer.

"Sam."

"Sir. I was just bringing you a cup of tea. Or now what's left of it..."

"Ah, yes, thank you...er, sorry. Well, I think Brookie's cursed us."

"Pardon?" Sam's thoughts raced, inexplicably arriving first at the feelings she held for the man in front of her. She blushed. "Sir?"

"Just got a call from the Coast Guard - a body has been found caught up under the end of the pier."

Letting out her breath, Sam said, "Oh I see, sir."

"So the tea will have to wait, I'm afraid."

"Nevermind," Sam said brightly, she turned and called over her shoulder, "I'll just get Milner and the car."

Foyle nodded, following her along the corridor. At the desk he stopped and gave Brookie a look. "A day off for the sunshine, eh, Sergeant?"

Brookie grinned, "Let me guess, sir..."

Foyle rolled his eyes and went to find Sam and Milner.

The case kept them busy for the better part of ten days. Foyle noticed an air of change between Brookie and Sam, and once again he felt that shiver of jealousy. He kept his thoughts at bay however, throwing himself into the case. He was quieter and more determined to focus on his work. If Sam noticed, she didn't mention it, but remained her fastidious self.

After the eleventh day, with no further progress, Foyle had Sam drive him home in the early evening.

"See you tomorrow, sir," she said as he stepped out.

Foyle doffed his hat and gave a half smile, "Good night, Sam." He lingered for a moment, as if trying to make up his mind about something, but then nodded at her and closed the door.

She drove back to the station to leave the car there. As she was parking she noticed Brookie waving at her. Pulling hard on the handbrake, she parked, and got out quickly. "What is it, Brookie?"

"I've just had a call from Eastbourne Constabulary; the sergeant over there said they think they might have a lead for us."

"I've just taken Mr Foyle home," Sam said, frowning.

"Mr Milner is still here - he says we should go over there, the three of us. Will you bring the car round?"

"Of course."

Sam got back in and drove around to the front, waiting as Brookie slid into the back and Milner settled himself awkwardly in the front. His leg was bothering him lately, Sam had noticed, and she gave him an encouraging smile.

"Off we go, then," Sam said brightly. On the drive over the three talked about the case.

At one point Milner said in explanation, "I thought we would check it out first before worrying Mr Foyle - he's been looking quite rung out lately, so no need for him to come back out again if we can do it ourselves."

"Absolutely, Milner," Sam said, "And yes, he has looked worse for wear lately." Her eyes unconsciously flicked to the rear view mirror, catching Brookie's smirk.

In Eastbourne she waited in the car for the two policeman. The evening had drawn in long and pink over the sea and it was pleasant sitting in the quiet of Wolseley. She thought about Brookie's look in the mirror - he knew this secret she held and it made her feel uneasy. With the business of the case, she and Foyle hadn't really discussed their moment on the beach. Perhaps he saw it as a nice gesture, or, God forbid, as daughterly affection, being so far away from her own family. Sam felt confused and unsettled. She was unsure of what to do; although she _did_ realise she would need to confront Brookie. If the secret got out, it would be back off to Lyminster for her, that's for sure. It was most unsuitable, even Sam could admit that. Her _boss_, for heaven's sake. What was she thinking?

Night had closed in by the time they returned to Hastings. Sam drove Milner home, watching him with concerned eyes as he limped up the steps to his cold, empty house. Another man who kept things to himself, Sam thought. She shook herself as Brookie slid into the seat next to her - she must focus on what she wanted to say to the cheeky and charming young sergeant.

She pulled away from Milner's house, watching Brookie out of the corner of her eye. He _did_ cut quite a figure in his smart uniform, and he obviously wore it proudly.

"Brookie," she began, "Might we speak a moment?"

"Of course, Miss." He glanced at her quickly, sensing something in her voice. "It's about Mr Foyle, isn't it?"

Sam put on the brakes and pulled over. "No, Brookie, it's about you."

"Oh."

"You know my secret and I feel like I'm walking around on tiptoes. I don't like it."

"Don't like me knowing or don't like feeling you have to worry someone else will find out?"

"Both!"

He took her hand and said very seriously, "I told, you, Sam, I knew from day one, yeah? And I never, ever said a thing, did I? I never would dream of hurting you, or insulting you in that way. Nor would I dare to do so with Mr Foyle. You should see this as a good thing - someone to share your burden. There is no shame in what you feel towards him."

Sam suddenly felt guilty for being annoyed with him. He was trying to be a friend and here she was accusing him of making her feel less than she should. "I apologise, Brookie."

He squeezed her hand. "He's a lucky man - he just doesn't know it. I'd tried to sweep you away myself if I thought I had half a chance..."

Sam began to say something, but Brookie stopped her, "No, no, don't worry; I understand. But I do think if you love him, he should know."

"You know why I can't possibly tell him..."

"You're worried about your job?"

"Not just that - what people might say of _him_, and that he might be in danger of losing his job."

"Sam," Brookie said, his voice suddenly low so that she had to lean towards him to hear better. "How do you feel towards me?"

She was surprised by the question. "Well, as I said before, I like you very, very much, but this...other...feeling seems to keep getting in the way." She looked at him apologetically.

"I only ask because, perhaps it isn't so different..."

"What do you mean?"

Brookie gave a small sigh, "We work together, I'm older than you, I have some sort of rank here, people who depend on me to do my job properly, you know - so, not all together different?"

Sam nodded, seeing his point. "But, it _is_ different isn't it?"

"Well, he is more old fashioned than I am..."

Sam gave a small chuckle. "Thank you, Brookie, you are a good friend. I wish...I wish I could..."

He shook his head and patted her hand, "Don't trouble yourself, Miss; just glad to help, if I can."

Sam nodded, heaving a sigh. "I won't tell him; I just can't."

"Then just be the best friend he can have; by God if anyone needs a friend, Mr Foyle does. He's got the world on his shoulders, that man has. No, you continue to be your sunny self, Miss Stewart, and things will work themselves out." He tapped his nose conspiratorially and gave her a wink.

"But we'll look after each other, won't we, Brookie?"

"We will, Miss Stewart, we will. We are like a family here at the old Constabulary. No getting rid of us so easily."

She leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you."

Starting the car again, they pulled away into the dark, black night, feeling closer and perhaps even more connected than before.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Brookie was balancing on a step ladder the next morning, removing a light bulb in the Police Station foyer. Both Foyle and Sam looked up questioningly when they came in, wondering what on earth he was doing.

"Sergeant?"

"Good morning, Mr Foyle. Miss Stewart."

"Umm..." Foyle began.

"Fuel targets, sir."

"I see?" Foyle wasn't so sure he did.

"I doubt you will for much longer, sir, I've removed most of the bulbs in this part of the station." He grinned, "War effort and all, sir."

"Of course." Foyle gave Sam a small smile and left Brookie to it, heading towards his office.

Brookie came down and moved the A frame ladder to the next fixture, stomping up the treads as if this were an every day occurrence.

"Give us hand?" Brookie asked, head nearly inside the lamp fixture in the middle of the station foyer.

Sam came forwards, standing just behind the ladder. "What can I do?"

Brookie looked down and grinned, "Bring us that screwdriver - some idiot's fastened the fixture down so tight I can't reach the bulb."

Sam grinned back at him and did as he asked.

Voice muffled from above, Brookie said, "You all right this morning, Sam?"

"Yes, thanks, Brookie. I'm glad we talked." She _had_ felt immensely better once she and Brookie had gone over things the previous evening in the car. Brookie is right, she thought, it is easier sharing the burden.

"Me too," said Brookie, handing her the screwdriver, "Hold that, there's a love, and I'll have this bleedin' thing out in no time."

"Surely you aren't taking them _all_ out, Brookie," said Sam in alarm, "We shan't see a thing at night time."

"Not all, just most."

Sam grinned. "But why now all of a sudden?"

"Had the Assistant Commissioner on the blower this morning - gave me strict instructions and all. Don't know what his plan is, but the war effort is the war effort."

There was a clunk from above and Brookie came down the ladder triumphantly, holding the bulb as if it were a fragile flower.

"Well done, Brookie."

"Have to do the offices next." He grinned, "Perhaps you'd like to do Mr Foyle's?"

But for the bulb he was holding she would have given him a punch in the arm.

They did the other offices first, before soon rapping on the door that read DCS Foyle, with Brookie holding the ladder awkwardly.

"Enter."

Foyle was sat behind his desk, elbow deep in paperwork. He eyed Brookie's ladder suspiciously. "Come to scavenge mine now, eh?"

"Only if you wouldn't mind, sir." He grinned and it occurred to Foyle that the young sergeant could be very charming when he wanted.

"Yes, all right." Foyle twitched his lips wryly, "But do leave me _one_, Sergeant, it would help if I can see what I'm doing."

"But of course, sir."

Brookie sprang up the ladder with his usual grace, but looked back down at Sam once he'd reached the top. His eyes had a mischievous glint and she suddenly felt worried.

"Do you know, Miss Stewart, I think I may need your help with this one. Your hands are smaller and can reach into the fixture better. Would you mind?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, but nodded stiffly. "If you think it would help."

Brookie slid down, then offered his hand to help her climb up.

"This would be easier without a uniform," she muttered under her breath, hitching her skirt a little higher in order to climb upwards.

"Don't worry, Miss, we'll hold the ol' ladder safe and secure for you, won't we Mr Foyle?" He looked over inquiringly at the detective, who at once stood and said, "Er... of course."

The two men stood holding the ladder, Brookie looking most pleased with himself. Foyle swallowed hard, not entirely sure where to look. Finally, he looked up, eyes trying not to notice Sam's stockings, or the legs beneath them, or the straining back of the skirt as she leaned to reach the bulb.

He cleared his throat and looked away quickly, "Um...you all right up there, Sam?"

"Yes, nearly there, sir."

There was a click, and the bulb came free. Handing it to Brookie, Sam came down the ladder, placing each step carefully. Her face was flushed and Foyle felt his heart beating more quickly.

"Well done, Miss, that's nearly forty now."

Foyle moved away back behind the safety of his desk. "I should think that's enough bulbs for now, Sergeant," he said briskly, "Sam, see if Milner's in yet and we'll follow up this lead he mentioned." Foyle waved the memo that had been waiting for him with one hand, the other tapping his pocket in unconscious agitation. He felt rather flushed himself.

Once in outside in the corridor, Sam hissed at Brookie, "You rotter, Brookie, what did you do that for?"

He grinned cheekily, and said in an innocent voice, "I don't know what you mean, Miss Stewart."

"You're a terrible liar."

"Just trying to help."

"Goodness me, how? I feel awfully exposed."

"Nice, innit?"

She gaped at him, hating that he could read on her face the pleasure she had felt when Foyle's eyes had been on her.

He put the ladder away and took the bulb from her, putting it carefully in a box with the others. Once his hands were free, Sam gave him a light punch on the arm. "You are terrible, Brookie."

"I know. Sorry, Sam."

They grinned at each other then, laughing slightly. Brookie shook his head, "Poor Mr Foyle..."

"And poor me," said Sam, still grinning, "I don't take kindly to being... manipulated and ... manhandled."

"Oh, really? Because I seem to remember..."

She gave him a push.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Foyle woke feeling incredibly grumpy. He couldn't explain why, having slept well; for once, a dreamless and restful night. The case was finally coming to a close, and he had fallen asleep right away in exhaustion. No tossing and turning, or worrying about Andrew, his work, or the nagging feeling at the back of his mind of what to do about Sam.

The fact that he _should_ feel refreshed only further annoyed him. In the course of his ablutions he nicked himself shaving, knocked his water glass over so that it shattered, sending glass everywhere, and managed to cut his finger as he was tidying it up. Cursing loudly, he threw his clothes on, went down and began clattering agitatedly in the kitchen, glaring at the kettle.

A smart knock came at the door and he cursed again; he hadn't even done up his tie yet. He opened the door, face still set in annoyance.

"You'd better come in Sam, I'm a bit behind this morning."

Sam stepped in, closing the door. "Anything I can do, sir?"

As an answer he huffed, going back into the kitchen. "Cup of tea and we'll be off."

"You're bleeding, sir," she said in concern, pointing at his hand.

"Bugger."

Sam had to stifle a giggle, as it wasn't often Foyle was in this sort of mood. He was obviously out of sorts, but it only made Sam want to laugh, seeing his face. He looked like a five old denied a toy, having been told off by his mother.

"Let me, sir." She took his hand forcefully, running it under the tap. She caught his eye and smiled softly. "There that's better."

Foyle saw the laughter in her eyes. She felt him relax and then begin to shake with silent chuckles.

"I must seem a right mess."

"You've been working too hard, sir."

"It's this case. It's been hard work for everyone." He paused, "Sam? Does Brookie know something I don't? He gave me the strangest look yesterday."

Sam blushed, "I'm sure it was nothing."

"You two have been having your heads together a lot lately..." Foyle cleared his throat, " I know you two..."

Sam broke in, cutting him off, "It isn't what you think, sir!"

"So, not a birthday party, then? Well thank goodness for that..."

Sam looked at him blankly and Foyle laughed.

He took her hand gently in his dripping wet one, the bleeding now stopped. He said gently, "I shouldn't like the others to, um ... well, we'd better get to the station..."

"Yes..." Sam said distractedly... "We wouldn't want them to...think..."

She looked up, finding his eyes. "Sorry, sir."

"Why?"

"I don't want to make things difficult for you."

"Have you?"

"I don't know." Sam shrugged.

Foyle felt this was getting them no where and stopped himself from tutting. He realised he shouldn't even be broaching this subject, should leave well alone, but he just couldn't. It was like an itch that had bothered him for too long. Seeing Brookie and Sam get closer hadn't helped either.

He bit his lip before asking, "Pardon me for asking, but are you walking out with Sergeant Brooke?"

Sam looked up in astonishment, "No, sir, of course not."

Foyle knew he should let go of her hand; knew he should not even consider what he was about to do; knew that this wasn't at all appropriate, but he couldn't help feeling it was right.

"Good, then he won't mind if I do this..." Foyle stepped in and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her close in a tender embrace. "I hope you will forgive me, Sam, but I feel I owe you so much gratitude. You've kept me sane over these last few years, and even today when everything was going wrong, you are able to fix it and make it better."

He patted her shoulder, and pulled away, "I just wanted to...er...thank you..."

Foyle chewed his lower lip, looking at the floor.

If Sam was surprised, she didn't show it. Touching his arm, she said, "I should really be thanking _you_. You've kept me out of trouble so often and...given me a life I hadn't ever imagined. I would have been miserable at the MTC."

She grinned, "Wielding spanners for His Majesty for the duration would have been maddening."

Foyle looked up, "There are many things I'd like to say to you, Sam. But perhaps they will have to wait."

"Until when?" said Sam curiously.

Foyle smiled, "Later. Really we must be on our way now, otherwise we'll be terribly late." He let go of her hand and dried his on a tea towel. "Right, let's go."

* * *

It wasn't until a week later that the case was wrapped up properly. Sam could see that Foyle was exhausted. They hadn't had a chance to talk much outside of work and the case, but she knew he hadn't forgotten. Her thoughts were disturbed by the sound of someone whistling a jolly tune. Brookie.

She called out to him from the kitchenette of the station, where she stood brooding over a cup of tea. He popped his head round the door frame as he heard his name.

He grinned, " 'allo, got a cuppa for me?"

She smiled, "Yes, if you like. There's some left in the pot."

He came in, taking a cup from the sideboard. "What are you in here on your lonesome for?"

"Just thinking."

"You want to be careful doing that, it will get you into trouble." He gave her a wink.

"Brookie," Sam began slowly, "He hugged me and thanked me...for, being there, I suppose. Last week. He said we would talk, but we haven't had time to yet. I'm just wondering about it, what he might say; what I will say."

Brookie nodded thoughtfully. "I see."

He leant against the table next to her, their shoulders touching companionably.

"_Don't think_, perhaps that's the answer."

Sam smiled, "Easy for you to say. But, no, you might be right."

"Just do what comes naturally."

"But..."

Brookie nudged her shoulder, "Don't think, remember?"

"Right."

They both jumped when Foyle came past, doing a double take when he saw them. He raised his eyebrows and Brookie hurriedly gulped his tea.

"Thanks for the cuppa, Miss Stewart."

He breezed past Foyle with a grin and went back to the front desk. If he'd have looked back along the corridor he would have seen the Detective giving Sam a knowing look and heard him say, "I'll walk home. See you tomorrow morning, Sam, as usual."

She nodded, blushing furiously, hoping he hadn't overheard their conversation.

The next morning found her outside Foyle's house on Steep Lane. She was starving, wishing there was a tea room that still served large slices of cake here. Staring out towards Hastings from the top step reminded her of their walk along the beach; she wondered if Foyle would find time to talk with her soon. She wasn't sure what "the many things" he wanted to say to her were about, but her curiosity was starting to get the better of her. She turned as the door opened.

Foyle looked out from his narrow hall, eyes tired and face drawn. He should really take a holiday, Sam thought.

"Come in, Sam. I'm afraid I'm not quite ready yet."

This was music to Sam's ears, and she followed him in; maybe now he would speak with her.  
He was in only his shirtsleeves; he pulled on his waistcoat as they entered the lounge.

"Have a cup of tea if you like; there's some toast left too. I'm in no rush to get to the station."

"Thank you, sir, I will. Why aren't you in a rush?" Sam said, sitting down at the kitchen table.

"Well, the case is over...and do you know, I'm quite tired." He paused, fiddling with his cuff links.

"Seems no matter how I present the facts, decisions are made without consideration for justice. The commissioner has made that clear." He frowned, looking put-out and preoccupied.

"Sorry, sir."

"Hmm? Oh, it will get sorted out," Foyle said distractedly, adding under his breath, "One way or another."

He sat down opposite her. "Sam?"

She looked up, "Yes, sir?"

"Thank you for waiting patiently."

"It's no trouble, sir. I'm here to drive you where and when you like."

Foyle twitched his lip, "I didn't mean that...I meant, er, our chat. I said I wanted to speak to you about certain things, and I, um, suppose with one thing and another..." He broke off, looking at her, suddenly unsure.

She set down her cup. "I think we both aren't saying what we think, not openly anyway."

Foyle stood, thrusting his hands into his pockets, "I'm your _boss_, for goodness sake - really, Sam."

His gaze rested on the ceiling as he shifted his weight from foot to foot in agitation. "And far too, er... No, Sam, really, we should just leave it. I'm being completely unfair in even...no, no, let's just forget it. I apologise for my forwardness and for causing you any..."

Sam interrupted him, "In the past I think, sir, I would have agreed with you and kept my mouth shut. My father always said that's what I should learn to do, but I never have been any good at following rules, especially his. No, sir, please listen. I know you see all the problems that...this," she waved vaguely at the space between them, "May cause, but I'm rather at the end of my rope - I know this isn't at all proper, I work for you, and I don't want to get you into any hot water either, but you _must_ know." She stopped for breath, gazing at him intensely.

Foyle let out a long sigh, "Yes, well..." He shook his head, feeling defeated. He couldn't explain himself, nor could he find a happy medium between mind and heart.

He turned to smile softly at her. "Better get to the station."

She nodded reluctantly, feeling a bit sad. She didn't want to admit that he was probably right to leave it unsaid. It burned within her, however, dancing on the tip of her tongue. She knew that they both understood each other, but neither could see a way, or at least a clear way, forward.

Sam stood, following him out into the hall. "Your tie, sir?"

Foyle rolled his eyes, "Would forget my head today, if it wasn't already attached."

He went up the stairs, leaving Sam trembling with pent up emotions below. She had thought about what things he might say, but this wasn't quite what she had imagined. What had Brookie said? _Don't think._

Suddenly, she smiled, feeling determined. Her thoughts raced ahead, stumbling over pleasant images.

When he came back down, looking much more himself, she couldn't help but feel a flutter of anticipation. The look in his eyes was different and more purposeful. He had shaken off the weariness and he seemed more in control of his face. There was nothing there that said only five minutes before he had been staring at her in despair.

As he drew level with her, she tried to fight the desire to reach out and pull him to her. She touched his shoulder instead, moving her hand down to his tie to straighten it.

"I must be out of my mind, today, Sam," Foyle said in a low voice.

"Perhaps..." Her hand remained on his tie, thumb ever so slightly rubbing the soft, silky material.

He drew his breath in sharply. "Or I've been out of my mind not to have done this before..."

The desire that sank through Sam was like a magnet, drawing her to him. He pulled her to him, finding her lips in one swift move.

"Oh!" was all that Sam managed before falling into his kiss.

After a moment, he stopped, searching her eyes with concern. "Sam? I...er...I know that was terribly inappropriate, I should have asked...I mean I shouldn't have even..."

Sam crushed his protestations with kisses of her own, tentative and tender. Finding his ear, she purred, "I've wanted that for so long..."

Foyle was nearly beside himself, hearing such an admission. They both wanted this, and he could hardly believe it. He pushed her against the door gently, feeling her breasts against his chest. He was trembling, feeling like a schoolboy in uncharted territory. Every sense was on fire and he felt years of loneliness disappearing. He let his hands explore thoughtfully, experiencing immense pleasure at the feel of her beneath his touch. She seemed to come alive.

For Sam it was as if everything suddenly felt right. She didn't even stop to compare his kissing to Joe or Brookie; it just felt as it should and she shivered under his touch. Her desire for him was pent up from years of denial and feeling foolish, and it suddenly unleashed with an unabashed fervour. Her breath came now in gasps and pants and she felt she was drowning in this man's kiss.

He seemed to sense this and moved his lips to her neck, causing her to do as she had done with Brookie, throwing her head back and pulling him even closer. The feel of this man against her was almost more than she could bear and her knees shook until she could hardly stand.

Foyle tried to stop then, feeling her tremble against him. He held her a moment until it subsided. Both laughed a little, happiness exuding from each other's eyes.

He murmured, "We really _will_ be late now..."

He kissed her cheek, "Though how we'll get through the day...or how we'll make this work..." He smiled at her, somewhat sadly, "I'm all out of answers, Sam."

"Let's worry about that later," Sam suggested.

Foyle touched her cheek, and raised one of his eyebrows in thought. "We'll have to keep this to ourselves...for now, I think."

She nodded, face flushed and eyes dancing. "Brookie knows though."

Foyle stopped, hand in midair, reaching for his trilby. "Oh?"

"He said he saw it from day one; we talked about it and he encouraged me to tell you - encouraged us both really - anyway, that's why we've been... he's been a real brick, actually."

She smiled at Foyle, watching him put his head to one side and bend his knees slightly in a little dip.

"Well, I'd best thank him sometime then." Foyle clamped his hat down on his head, smiling brightly.

Sam grinned, straightened her hair and opened the door, stepping out into a changed morning.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Good morning, Milner," Brookie called out across the desk. He reached for a file, "This may be of some interest to you."

Milner came over, wincing as his leg ached him with each step. "Where's Mr Foyle?"

Brookie smirked, "He's not in yet. Second time he's been late this week."

"I wouldn't have said that was any of your business, Sergeant," Milner said with an equally impertinent grin.

"Just making an observation, _Sergeant_," Brookie replied, grinning. They both turned around quickly as the front doors opened and Foyle and Sam came through.

Milner and Brookie both said in unison, "Good morning, sir."

Foyle stopped in his tracks, giving them a curious look.

"I've just given a file to Mr Milner, sir, that may be of some interest to you. Some developments on the sabotage that's been going on."

"Very good, Sergeant." Foyle nodded his head to indicate Milner should follow him. Milner looked around at Sam as they left, giving her a smile.

Brookie leant across the desk as the two men went into Foyle's office. He wiggled his eyebrows and she laughed. In fact, she couldn't stop smiling.

"I feel positively giddy today, Brookie."

"And you look radiant; if I may say so, Miss."

"Do I? Must be the weather."

"Well, all I can say, is he's a lucky bugger," Brookie said half grudgingly.

"Brookie," Sam hissed, quickly looking around the quiet and empty station, "You mustn't say such things."

"Besides," she added, coming over to lean on the desk, "You don't know what you're talking about."

Brookie leant forward again, this time reaching his hand out tentatively. He tucked a strand of hair that had found its way loose behind her ear, touching her cheek briefly. It was both a tender and revealing movement, and Sam felt herself go red.

"Oh Brookie," Sam breathed.

She caught his gaze and the happiness in her eyes was nearly overwhelming for the sergeant. He looked at her fondly and said, "You can thank me later."

She smiled gaily, "I forgot — you see everything."

He tapped his nose, "My job innit?"

She came around the desk to sit with him at the small table.

"Have you gotten any further with that blasted puzzle?"

Brookie shook his head, lifting a large registration book up to reveal cards laid out in a pattern. They had been trying to solve the puzzle of how to make a swastika shape in the square with only four cards, no sides touching. So far, no one in the station had been successful.

"Keep your ears open, we don't want Mr Foyle to think we are mucking about," Brookie said, looking around him. "Not exactly police work…"

"I'm trying to work out what it means, now; it feels like everything has changed," Sam said, not meaning the puzzle.

"Well it has; but you must go on as before, otherwise someone other than me will notice."

"He knows that _you_ know."

"Ah."

"He said he should thank you." Sam grinned again.

"As he should," Brookie winked.

"Let him decide from here, Sam," Brookie said, suddenly serious. "He likes to keep things in boxes, does our Mr Foyle, and you'll be in quite a separate one, I reckon."

"At work, certainly…"

"Especially then."

Brookie tapped her arm, "He'll let you know when he…wants you."

Sam went red again, "So, I'm just meant to wait around?"

"You'll be used to that, as his driver." Brookie teased. "But you know what I mean, yeah?"

Sam nodded slowly, "Yes, Brookie, I do. Absolutely. I'd thought as much myself, but am finding it rather…_difficult_."

Brookie nodded, eyes now on the cards in front of him. "Bloody puzzle, it's driving me barmy not being able to figure it out."

It was nearly 6 o'clock before Foyle called out to Sam for her to take him home. The day had been long and full of the Assistant Commissioner breathing down his neck.

"He says he's coming up tomorrow," Foyle said to Milner as he left.

Milner nodded, "Goodnight, sir."

As they walked past the desk, the three saw Brookie chuck down the cards in disgust. He snapped to attention as Foyle came into the reception.

"Still no luck, Sergeant?" Foyle twitched his lips, seeing the younger man's discomfort at having been caught.

"No, sir."

Milner and Sam came to stand with him.

"No, I've not had any luck either," Milner said.

"You all had a go, then?" said Foyle with some amusement.

"Won't you try?" Sam said eagerly.

"Well…"

"You're meant to use just the four cards and make the swastika symbol. It seems impossible."

Foyle stared for a moment, moving a few of the cards around. "Hmm…" he mused.

"Well, maybe look behind the cards…shapes perhaps? No, frankly I don't see it."

"If it has foxed you, then there's no hope for the rest of then," Sam began.

"That's enough from you," Foyle said looking up, "Come on, this is getting us no where." He nodded to the door. "Let's go."

"Goodnight," Sam called out over her shoulder to Milner and Brookie who were still standing over the cards, "Good luck!"

"I'm off too, Brookie," said Milner. "See you tomorrow. Oh, would you put this in Mr Foyle's file tray for the morning?"

"Yes, of course, sir. See you tomorrow."

Brookie sat looking down at the cards for some minutes more, thinking about what Foyle had said…behind the cards. Suddenly, the pattern leapt out at him and he stood up quickly. "I've done it!" he yelled to the empty room. He allowed himself a moment of triumph, before returning his thoughts back to work.

Taking the papers, Brookie went along the corridor and into Foyle's office. On the desk, under some stacked files he saw cards, laid out in the same pattern they had all been trying to figure out. It was solved, quite simply, as Foyle had said, by seeing the symbol behind the cards.

"You crafty old fox," Brookie said out loud with a laugh. "Some blokes have all the bleedin' luck."

He chuckled and walked out again, closing the door. As he walked back to his post he wondered how Sam was getting on - _difficult_, that's what she'd said. Well, Brookie knew just what she meant. And somehow, he thought to himself as he put the cards away in a drawer, she wouldn't be the only one.

He smirked, closing the drawer. Yes, some have all the luck.

* * *

"Busy day, sir?" Sam said, trying to find a neutral topic of conversation as they pulled away from the station.

"Yes, quite. The new Commissioner is making it twice as hard, but there we are."

"Why is he coming tomorrow? He isn't checking up on you, surely?"

"No, he's visiting all the constabularies along the coast here. We just happen to be first. Unfortunately."

Foyle took his gaze away from the scenes flashing past, to rest it on Sam. She felt him looking at her and she turned to smile at him.

"I must be honest with you," she began softly, "It is so very difficult not to touch you or be near you all the time." She smiled nervously, "I hope you don't mind me saying that."

"Not at all."

Turning towards her with a half smile, Foyle rubbed his forehead and pushed up his hat, settling himself in comfortably. "In fact, I feel the same."

Sam looked over sharply, "Do you?" She sounded thrilled.

"Yes. Keep your eyes on the road, Sam."

"Of course." She grinned happily. "I'm so glad it isn't just me. I'm trying my best to be good, you know, sir, and I only hope I don't let you down."

"Let me down? You never have in the past, why should you now?"

"I just…" Sam broke off, not entirely sure what she did mean. "I just don't want to make things difficult for you, especially now with the Assistant Commissioner coming down."

"Yes, well, we will all have to be on our best behaviour." He paused thoughtfully, "But we are alone at the moment, so we can talk freely; I'm glad you spoke up." He smiled at her.

Sam reached out her hand, finding his. He held it on his knee, enjoying the warmth of it and thinking pleasant thoughts.

Seemingly reading his mind, Sam asked, "Home?"

"Why not drive up to the overlook? It's a fine evening."

Sam smiled, "Lovely idea."

She took her hand back to change gear, before replacing it on his knee.

The sun was just setting, painting long streaks of pink and wisps of red across the sky. Sam turned off the Wolseley and they sat in silence for a minute looking out at the evening. She took off her hat, tossing it behind her and smoothing her hair.

Foyle cleared his throat, and loosened his tie. "Sam? May I kiss you?"

"You never need to ask," she said with a laugh, eyes dancing in expectation.

"Jolly good," he murmured, whipping off his hat and leaning over to capture her lips. As before it was electric; so shockingly wonderful that Sam gasped unconsciously, causing Foyle to smile against her lips. She pulled back to look at him after a moment. Taking the man's face tenderly in her hands, she stroked the lines around his eyes, tracing the curve of his cheek down to his lips. He kissed her finger lightly.

Sliding over, Sam burrowed into him, seeking upwards to find his lips. This time Foyle too gave a little gasp, as she tentatively flicked her tongue inside, wondering and curious. His hands were in her golden hair, pulling at pins, wishing it were down and flowing around her shoulders. Their breaths came in shallow union.

Foyle let his hands wander freely; Sam helped by undoing the buttons of her jacket, and he immediately slipped his hand inside. Sam gave a small shudder of pleasure at his touch and he left her lips to trail downwards along her chin, to her neck and to her breasts.

Darkness had settled heavily around them, and in that cocoon, Foyle felt emboldened.

He whispered, "Sam, please know I respect you, and I will always take care to cherish you."

Sam gave a sigh, "Cherish me all you like…" Her fingers were in his hair, pulling him closer and further downwards.

Foyle smiled, pushing her gently back across the seat so she leaned against the driver side door, being mindful of the steering wheel. He followed her, pressing himself along the length of her, feeling her with his own body.

Murmuring a soft, "Sam," he kissed her ardently, hands finding the place he sought. She came up against him with a gasp of delight, throwing her arms around his neck and locking him in her embrace. He moved his hands expertly, feeling her writhe beneath him. She whimpered in his ear and he felt his own desire getting the better of him. He worked his hand upward, along her stomach, up inside her shirt to her soft breasts, before pulling out his hand to touch her cheek. He gave her one last kiss, before pulling away, sitting up to look at her.

"I only stop because I must, Sam," he said, voice husky.

Her eyes were closed, a dreamy smile playing about her lips. "But don't stop…"

He placed a hand on her knee, "But I must, my dear girl, otherwise I shan't know what I might do."

Sam opened one eye, "I'm open to suggestions."

Foyle laughed, "Come on, my darling Sam; let's step outside for a moment."

They came out to stand in front of the car, marvelling at how black the night was. No lights came from the town below, no fishing ships on the horizon, and only one early star twinkling. It was like being underground.

Restoring her clothing to its former places, and tucking up her hair, Sam slid beneath his arm, nestling close. She loved the smell of him, and she had to stop herself taking possession of his lips again. The fresh breeze helped cool their glowing cheeks, and only when Sam shivered did they turn away from the blackness.

As she started the car and pulled away carefully, Sam stated, "I'm hungry."

Foyle grinned, "I'd best take you to dinner then."

"That's jolly nice of you."

Foyle noticed she had dropped the sir, and he felt pleased. "Well, can't let you starve on my watch."

He jammed his hat back on his head, looking at her fondly, "Now can I?"

She smiled cheekily, "I wouldn't be up to much if I wasted away."

Foyle twitched his lips, "I'll be sure to keep you well fed, then."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Drawing up outside a white columned hotel five days later, Foyle noticed Sam glance at him with some concern. He ignored the looks, continuing to stare ahead. His face was set in grim determination, and as he stepped out he said, "Right, this won't take long. Back soon."

Foyle found the Assistant Commissioner coming down the stairs of the hotel to meet him.

"I've finished here, Foyle, and I'm heading back up to London."

"Certainly had no intention of keeping you…sir."

He'd endured a week of the man hindering him at every step of the present investigation, and Foyle had just about had enough. He had rung and arranged this meeting with a somewhat heavy heart, knowing the decision he would likely have to make would affect others around him.

They went into a now disused dining hall, its furniture laying abandoned under white sheets. On any other day, Foyle would have noticed the beautiful view from the terrace windows, but today, his mind was on other things.

"I'm here to find out about the De Perez situation," Foyle began, setting his hat on the table and sitting down. Foyle had plenty of evidence to tie the Spaniard to the week long acts of sabotage, and he wanted the man in custody.

"I'm afraid I can't help you," the Commissioner said, "he's attached to the embassy." He went on to explain what Foyle already knew about diplomatic staff attached to foreign embassies and the seemingly free pass they had in matters concerning the law.

Foyle folded his hands in front of him and nodded, listening. He felt inwardly furious, but bit his lip to hold back his anger.

"So, he goes free. That's marvellous. They all go free."

"What on earth do you mean, Foyle?" said the Commissioner impatiently.

Foyle succinctly outlined the developments and findings of his investigation, staring back at the man opposite him with piercing eyes. Why was it because of a war, suddenly law and justice didn't seem to matter? If that was the way they wanted to do things, they could jolly well do it without him.

"It's not enough," the Commissioner said promptly once he had finished.

Foyle closed his eyes and felt his heart sink. "Well." He began to stand up, adding softly, "It certainly is for me."

The Commissioner tried to stop him, panic suddenly sweeping his face. He tried pleading, apologising, and then bargaining. Foyle merely gave him a withering look and tossed an envelope on the table before his superior.

He left without glancing back, feeling the colour rising in his face.

Foyle took a deep breath as he left the hotel, his anger and frustration slipping away into sadness. A bitter taste lay on his tongue and he thought, "After all this time, is this really how it ends?"

He saw Sam and Milner standing along the beach near the sea wall and he walked slowly down to meet them. Sam came forward first, noticing the look on his face. She and Milner stood unbelievingly as they heard Foyle say softly, "I've resigned."

Sam's mouth dropped in dismay.

Milner glanced at Sam before looking back at Foyle, unsure of himself.

"Sir?" he asked.

Sam's cheeks began to colour as tears sprang into her eyes.

"Let's get back," Foyle suggested, pivoting and walking away.

He said nothing more as they trudged back towards the Wolseley.

* * *

Sam drove in silence, feeling as if her chest would be crushed by the confusion she felt. She felt hurt, and almost betrayed, as if Foyle was leaving her behind. What did this resignation mean? Would she lose her job as well? And not driving him every day — Sam gulped.

The two men in the car next to her said nothing, and the thick silence was beginning to be stifling.  
At the station, they all got out hurriedly, and Sam watched as Milner followed Foyle sadly inside. She leaned against the bonnet and with a sob began to cry in earnest. Her shoulders shook and for a few minutes her breaths came as gasps as the sobs wracked her body.

She closed her eyes and held her head in her hands, not noticing the man coming quietly into the station's yard. She looked up only when she felt arms come around her and a warm voice whisper, "Sam?"

She recognised the buttons before her, and her gaze moved upwards to see the concerned look. Burying her tear stained face in his chest she cried, "Oh Brookie…"

He pulled her into an almighty embrace, wrapping her up easily like a doll. "Shh," he whispered, "there, there, Miss Stewart."

Brookie rested his chin on the top of her head, "It will be all right, you'll see."

"But how, Brookie?" Sam asked, sobs subsiding. "What will I do now?"

"I don't know," Brookie admitted. "But you won't lose him."

"But I won't drive him everyday, and I won't ever see him," Sam sniffed, feeling overwhelmed and empty.

"You don't know that," Brookie said sensibly. "We'll all miss him, but he won't leave Hastings. Together you'll figure out the next step. It isn't hopeless, you'll see."

"But if I'm not working here, my father will be on at me to come home."

Brookie pulled back to give her a half grin, "Well, if I were you, I'd tell old Dad that you're not quite finished with things here."

Sam gave a half sob, half laugh, dabbing at her eyes and trying to rearrange her face.

"You are right, Brookie; best to take one step at a time."

"That's the ticket, my love," Brookie said, giving her a squeeze.

"How did you know I was here?"

"Where else would you be? Mr Foyle came in with Sergeant Milner and told us all that he had resigned, and then went into his office. I came to find you as you hadn't come in with them."

Sam placed a hand on his arm, "Brookie, what would I do without you?"

He chuckled, "All part and parcel, Miss Stewart." He gave her a mock salute and offered his arm. "Come on then, let's have a cuppa and put on a smile."

In the late afternoon, after spending most of the day flitting between Milner's office and Brookie's station in agitation, Sam tried to get up the nerve to knock on Foyle's door. Before she could make her way down the corridor however, the door opened and Foyle came out carrying an old, battered briefcase. Sam had not seen it before and wondered what he was doing with it.

Foyle paused by the front desk, looking at Sam and Brookie. He gave a small smile. "Let's go, Sam."

He held out his hand to Brookie and they shook hands. "Good luck, Sergeant."

Foyle's eyes flicked towards Sam, "And thank you…for everything."

Sam felt tears prick the back of her eyes again and she blinked furiously.

Brookie nodded, swallowing hard.

"Sam." Foyle nodded his head towards the door and she followed him.

They drove in silence for a few minutes, Sam concentrating on shifting. Finally, she asked, "You have a briefcase, sir?"

Foyle looked at her with a sideways glance. "Er…well, it's an old one I kept at the bottom of my filing cabinet. Haven't used it since Andrew was small…my wife...my late wife…she gave it to me when I got my first promotion..."

Foyle broke off, clearing his throat. "The rest they can box up and send."

"Sir, you can't really be leaving?"

"I have."

"But…"

She stopped speaking as a lorry pulled out in front of them on the narrow road, causing her to brake hard.

"Shall we talk about this later, Sam?" Foyle said, touching his tie nervously.

"You promise?" asked Sam, somewhat severely. She knew his tendency to get out of discussing things if he could.

"Look, I've got the last three fingers of some old whiskey in this case," he said, resting his arm comfortably along the back of the bench, "also from the bottom of the cabinet…um, you can have a drink with me to celebrate the end of my police service."

Foyle paused and twitched his lip, "If you like."

"Ooh, rather, sir!" she said, turning to look at him.

"Watch the road, Sam," he said with an exasperated smile. "And perhaps you'd like to call me Christopher?"


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thank you to those who have followed this slightly rambling story. I've had such fun writing it, and though at first I couldn't quite make up my mind if Brookie would be our hero, Sam and Foyle have won out again. Perhaps Brookie is a hero, however, in his own way? As always, feedback is appreciated and I thank you for sticking with me so far.

* * *

Chapter 8

At Steep Lane, Sam turned off the motor in front of Foyle's house. Her stomach gave an unconscious rumble and Foyle smiled at her.

"We'll have something to eat first, then the celebratory drink, all right?"

"Tickety-boo! What have you got?"

"Er…I'm sure we can find something in the larder."

Foyle unlocked his door and stood aside to let her in. He looked around the quiet, blacked out street. Filling his lungs with the night air, he closed the door, wondering if he wasn't about to get himself in above his head, but not entirely sure he minded if he did. He was a free man.

Sam had already divested herself of coat and hat, and to Foyle's pleasure, unbuttoned her jacket and loosened her stiff tie. She looked like a present, half unwrapped, and Foyle had to give himself a shake.

"Right. Larder."

She followed him into the kitchen. "I feel as if I haven't eaten properly in years. The last time I felt full was when we went up to that farm in springtime, do you remember? They had apple crumble _and_ custard."

Foyle popped his head out from the larder, "Er, well, no custard in here. Will eggs and toast do? I still have some butter."

"Perfect." She grinned at him.

"It must be horrible working on a farm," she began, pulling out a frying pan, settling herself comfortably into his kitchen.

"Oh, really?"

"Well, imagine being surrounded by all that food and not being able to eat it whenever you like."

Foyle raised an amused eyebrow.

"All those cows and pigs, and lambs, and the chickens and turkeys…fresh onions, and carrots…"

"Sam!"

"Sorry! I know I should be grateful the rationing isn't any worse, but I can't help but dream of food. It's just I'm always so hungry!"

Foyle laughed, feeling some stress slip away and his mood lighten. He put the eggs down carefully and came towards her, gathering her into his arms.

"Samantha Stewart, you are the most delightful, wonderful, clever and vibrant young lady I think I've ever met."

She blushed a becoming pink and Foyle kissed her with a smile playing about his lips.

"After such a day, having you here, in my kitchen, dreaming of food, well, I couldn't have asked for anything better."

"Really? I think it would be better if we _actually_ had some steak…"

Foyle crushed her lips, a laugh growing from deep inside him. He felt slightly manic and euphoric, but couldn't begin to understand why. He laughed hard now, his shoulders shaking and Sam pulled him close in an embrace. She held him until it stopped and when she pulled away saw his eyes were bright.

"It's all been a bit much, hasn't it?" she asked softly.

Foyle gave a half smile and nodded. What had begun as a laugh had ended in tears, and he knew now that walking away from his job was harder than he thought it would be. The tension had built to a breaking point and mixed with everything else he was feeling — everything he was experiencing — that had to do with the woman in front of him. Perhaps he was mad, he thought.

"Not to walk in there tomorrow…for you to be out there driving another detective, getting into all kinds of trouble —"

She made a face at him.

"To know that after all these years, this is truly…it." Foyle paused, heaving a sigh and twitching his lips. "I'll miss it, Sam."

She pulled him to her, cradling his head in her hands, fingers clutching hold of the small curls at the base of his neck. Foyle let her comfort him, feeling immeasurably grateful for her presence; her loyalty…her love.

* * *

The egg and toast dinner was over quickly, and in spite of her own worries about what would happen now that Foyle was gone from the police force, Sam didn't even think to mention it. She had felt, more than anything, the pain, loss, and disappointment of the man across the table from her.

Sam stood, collecting their plates and going to the sink. She felt so comfortable here in this house, with this man.

She turned to look at him from the sink as it filled, giving a "well aren't you going to help?" look. He was chewing the inside of his lip, thinking, but he stood and came up behind her.

"Can I help?"

Sam froze, a pleasant feeling running down her spine. She nestled back into his chest.  
"You can actually…you —" she broke off with a gasp. "Oh!"

His lips were at her neck, hands slipping around her middle. She closed her eyes, one hand trailing in the warm, soapy water in the sink below. The combination of the warm water on her tingling fingertips and the cool sensation of his breath against her neck sent heavenly shivers through her.

Foyle pressed himself against her, pulling her closer. "My darling," he murmured into her shoulder.

His left hand slid slowly down, pressing gently. Sam gave another gasp and felt the shivering engulf her.

"I've got you," he murmured reassuringly, feeling her shivers increase.

She gave a whimper and leaned forwards, back arching involuntarily. His right hand was now at her breast, unbuttoning the khaki shirt slowly, slipping his hand inside. It was warm and as his fingers brushed against her taught nipple, she turned her head, trying to get at him, wanting his mouth; to feel his lips and capture his tongue.

In doing so, she dropped the plate she had been holding into the water, splashing water all over her front.

Foyle stopped, smiling at her. He put both hands on her arms, giving them a light squeeze.

"I apologise, I'm not being very…um, helpful. I was enjoying my after dinner treat."

She turned to gape at him, lips parted in delight.

He smirked, grabbing the tea towel. "You've got water all down your front, here, let me help."

He began dabbing at the soaked shirt, hand resting momentarily on a breast. He caught her eye, making sure he hadn't just pushed too many boundaries.

Sam grinned at him, feeling that it was absurd to see the questions in his eyes. If only he knew how much she wanted him to continue and never stop.

Somehow, they managed to finish the washing up.

"Let's have that drink, shall we?" Foyle asked, moving into the lounge. He closed the door and checked the blackout was in place properly. Switching on the wireless so that it burbled softly in the background, he picked up two glasses. Handing her a small glass of whiskey, he held up his.

"To us."

Sam drank and then said, "I thought we were celebrating your resignation?"

"Well, yes. That too."

Foyle sat comfortably next to her on the sofa, loosening his tie and pulling it off smoothly.

He said with sudden happy realisation, "I'm not your boss any more, Sam!"

She turned to look at him in surprise.

"You know what this means?"

Still confused, Sam replied, "I don't have to call you 'sir'?"

Grinning, "It means, Sam, I don't feel nearly so self conscious about kissing you. You no longer work for me."

"Oh." She smiled, "Well, in that case…"

She could taste the whiskey on his tongue and she decided she liked it. Much nicer than the taste of cigarettes.

Suddenly Sam said quietly, "I can't bear the thought of not seeing you every morning."

Foyle took her hand.

"It's rather a rum deal, you know. You shoving off." Sam paused, "I know it wasn't easy, and I don't mean to make it harder by saying all this. It's just…"

She put her head on his shoulder, staring at the glass in her hand. "I'll miss you; miss working with you. I don't really know what I'll do now. I don't want to lose you."

Foyle hummed in acknowledgement, biting his lip.

"It's been a wonderful few years; I know I shouldn't say that, it being the War and such, but it brought you into my life."

"Finding you…Sam, is something I will always be grateful for. The one and only thing we can thank Jerry for," Foyle said softly, tracing the outline of her hand.

"I don't know how and I don't know why, but I've always known." She shot him a smile, "It wasn't proper, and I hardly knew you, but somewhere deep down, I was drawn to you from our first days together."

"A moth to a flame?" Foyle teased in a soft whisper.

"It's true," Sam said firmly.

He placed his lips against her temple and whispered. "Me too."

Taking the glass out of her hand, setting it on the small table with his own, he faced her. Finding her eyes, he said in a low voice,

"Sam, I love you. I think I always have; I just didn't know a way forward — propriety is rather a problem with these sorts of things, and er, well, I never believed you would feel even remotely the same. I didn't dare think it."

"I love you too, Christopher Foyle." She kissed him softly.

He smiled, eyes becoming misty. "I don't know how I'm so lucky."

"I'm lucky too, you know. To love someone I completely trust, understand, and believe in, and to be loved in return — this is a first for me."

"I never dreamed I would feel this way again." Foyle paused, kissing her hand that he held tightly. "I am so glad."

She smiled at him. "As am I."

Sam paused, gazing at the man next to her, saying suddenly, "I can't bear it without you, Christopher; I won't drive another detective around, and I won't go back to the MTC. I'll take in laundry if I have to, but I can't go back."

Foyle twitched his lips, "Well, do you know, Sam, I don't think I can bear it without you either."

Sam continued, looking distractedly over his shoulder, "I could be your cook! Or a housekeeper? Or maybe your personal secretary? Or —"

With a throaty chuckle, Foyle looked at her — "My housekeeper? Really Sam!"

His eyes softened, "My darling Sam, don't you know how much I love you?"

He took both her hands, "Will you marry me, Samantha Stewart? Would you mind terribly, being an old policeman's wife?"

Sam's mouth dropped in surprise, as if it had never occurred to her that such a possibility was the most plausible role. Her face broke into a broad smile.

"Really?"

"Well, um, yes." Foyle tried not to look worried.

"Of course! Yes, yes." She flung herself into his arms, laughing in delight.

Foyle smiled, burying his face into her shoulder. "Splendid," he croaked, voice stuck somewhere inside him. "Can't go anywhere without you, you know."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Sam woke the next morning with a contented sigh, stretching and slowly coming to. Her eyes sprang open as she remembered the previous night and she smiled into her pillow. Hugging herself tightly, she gave a small laugh. _I'm going to marry Christopher Foyle._

She laughed again at the shock and happiness she had felt last night. It was so obvious and yet she had been the last to believe it. All the years of telling herself to get over the things she felt, and now here he was, loving her and asking to spend the rest of their lives together.

He had no ring for her yet, explaining that Rosalind's ring was meant for Andrew. In his eyes she read the worry there and the unspoken words of, "_If_ he makes it home…and what will he make of all _this_?" He wanted to find something that would suit her, he had said.

_To spend everyday with him_, Sam thought happily, sitting up — _it's all my dreams coming true. It is like coming home at last; it feels so right._

Jumping out of bed, Sam went first to the window to see what type of day lay in store for them. She and Foyle were driving to Lyminster to see her parents. Foyle wanted to do things properly and speak with her father. It was the perfect day for it, warmer than yesterday and clear skies. Throwing on a pleasant, pale green dress, Sam let her curls fall across her shoulders.

It was Saturday; she would no longer be working for the police or with the MTC, and she and Foyle were going to be together the whole day. A good time to wear her new dress if ever there was one. It buttoned up the front and clung to her curves, only hanging more freely once it reached her hips. She spent longer than normal over her ablutions and setting her hair, finally giving herself a nod in the mirror. It would do.

She smiled at herself, enjoying being out of uniform and thinking back to the night before. He had been so sweet when he asked if she would marry him. Tears pricked the back of her eyes even now. She felt she was brimming over with happiness, and a silly grin seemed to be plastered on her face. They had sat talking the rest of the evening. It was gone eleven before Foyle realised she should be at home, in bed. He had gone with her in the Wolseley, kissed her with a chaste goodnight at the door, and walked home. Sam thought she would never sleep, but the days events and emotions had taken their toll and she'd fallen into bed, fast asleep within minutes.

And now they were headed into a new life together. She was sure her father wouldn't protest too much once he saw how happy she was. And even if he forbade it, she would marry Christopher anyway. Sam couldn't see a life without him — her detective.

She did, however, feel slightly nervous. Telling her parents and asking for their blessing should be easy, but she couldn't help wonder at their reaction. She shook these thoughts away as she drew up outside Steep Lane. Foyle was out of the door before she could even turn off the engine, suddenly beside her in the car, grinning like a schoolboy.

"Good morning, Christopher," she said, still enjoying the novelty of his given name on her tongue.

He leant over to kiss her, whispering, "Good morning, my dear. You look absolutely delectable."

She giggled and put the car into gear.

"You are still up for this?" she asked nervously.

Foyle crooked an eyebrow, "Certainly. I don't think your father will have me strung up. He seems a reasonable man."

She smiled at him. "Good. I can't wait for you to meet Mummy. She'll adore you."

Foyle ran a hand over his chin, smiling and contemplating her. "New dress, Sam?"

"Do you like it?"

"Very, um...yes, very much." He cleared his throat.

Risking a quick glance at him, Sam gave him a teasing look. "Do you now?"

"Let's focus on the road, shall we, Miss Stewart? I'd like to get there in one piece."

She grinned cheekily, tossing her curls over a shoulder. "As you wish…_sir_."

He breathed in sharply, turning to look out the window. Sam tried not to laugh. _Distracting him is such a lovely game…_

* * *

Foyle was, in fact, rather nervous himself. He remembered Iain Stewart to be fairly reasonable, but he had a stubborn streak in him, not unlike his daughter. He knew Sam wouldn't like to go against her father, so he hoped he would be able to convince the Rev. Stewart of his honourable intentions.

They arrived in Lyminster in time for elevenses, which Foyle shrewdly surmised to have been planned by Sam. Poor girl was always starving. He gave himself a little shake as they got out of the Wolseley, trying not to watch her as she walked so invitingly up the path. _Where on earth had she found that dress?_ She must have saved up all her coupons. It suited her so well — he alternatively wanted to see it on her, looking so nice, and wanted it off her, revealing the source of her swaying hips and curves. Foyle shook himself again. _Focus, man!_

Rev. Stewart opened the door to the pair, smiling down at Sam warmly.

"Samantha, dear, come in, come in. Mr Foyle, how nice to see you."

Foyle shook hands with him, smiling.

"How are you, Father? And Mummy?"

"We are both well, my dear, thank you. It's very busy with the church at the moment, but your mother has been a great help. She's feeling much more herself lately."

They heard a female voice call out from the garden, and they made their way through the house towards it. Foyle felt his breath catch as the stunning lady came into view in front of him. She was beautiful; she had the same long, bronze curls as Sam, and held herself with authority. Her eyes crinkled at him, hidden laughter behind her lashes, putting him immediately at ease.

Taking off her gardening gloves, she said, "How do you do, Mr Foyle? We've heard so much about you."

He shook hands, "Very nice to meet you. Please, call me Christopher."

They moved from the garden into a sort of conservatory at the back of the house. It was warm, full of sunshine and roses. Rev. Stewart conjured up a small table and a few wooden chairs, inviting them to sit down.

"So, Christopher, what brings you to our humble parish?" Rev. Stewart began.

"Yes, Samantha was very vague on the telephone," Mrs Stewart broke in.

Sam blushed, giving Foyle a nervous smile. He returned the smile before facing the Stewarts.

"I've resigned from the Police force. I felt my services were no longer required, and I hope to pursue other work relevant to the war effort."

"I see," said Rev. Stewart, looking slightly puzzled. "So, Samantha will be driving your replacement?"

"No, sir. Er, we… um," Foyle cleared his throat.

"Sam and I have come to a realisation that we cannot be without each other. I love her, and she has led me to believe that love is returned. We would like your permission, and your blessing, to marry."

"Oh."

Sam's father looked first at Foyle, then at Sam, as if uncomprehending what had just been said. He frowned, looking even more confused. It was Mrs Stewart who came to the rescue.

"Well, I think it's marvellous. Congratulations to you both!" She stood, first kissing her daughter on the cheek, and then Foyle, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

"I hope you will both be very happy; which is perhaps silly to say, because I can already see how happy you both are."

Sam beamed, "You're a real brick, Mummy, thank you."

Foyle gave a slight half smile, looking at Rev. Stewart who still seemed to be in a state of shock. He'd taken his glasses off, rubbing them furiously on his grey cardigan, staring pointedly at the ground.

"Oh, Iain," Mrs Stewart said gently, "come on now."

He stood, jamming the glasses back on his face. Foyle saw the brightness of his eyes.

Holding out his hand, he said rather shakily, "It wasn't what I expected, but on reflection it makes perfect sense. I wish you both all the very best and hope that God will bless you."

Foyle stood and nodded, shaking the man's hand firmly.

"Look after her, Christopher," Rev. Stewart said, voice still strained.

"We will look after each other, sir. We always have."

Sam slipped an arm through Foyle's and he looked at her fondly. Mrs Stewart mirrored her, taking hold of her husband.

"Now, this calls for something special!"

"But Mummy, you don't have anything to drink _here_," said Sam.

Foyle suddenly remembered Rev. Stewart was a teetotaller. _Shame_, he thought, _could use a drink…_

Mrs Stewart winked, reminding Foyle forcefully of Sam. "I have some sherry I used for the W.I's trifle last month. I am sure your father can stand it on this occasion."

"Darling, it's not even _twelve_," said the Reverend aghast.

"It's only a bit of cooking sherry."

Rev. Stewart shook his head in defeat. "I think a cup of tea would be best for me, my dear," said the poor man, looking for all the world as if he couldn't make up his mind whether to cry or be happy.

Sam flew to him, throwing her arms around his neck. Foyle caught some of her fervent whispers.

"Oh do be pleased, Father, won't you? For me? I love him so much."

"I am, Samantha. I just didn't imagine you bringing home someone so much older than yourself."

"But it doesn't _matter_, Father. I love him more than life itself."

Rev. Stewart gulped, "I know it doesn't matter. And I am happy for you, dear girl. I am just a little overwhelmed." A few tears leaked out from his eyes.

Sam kissed his cheek.

"Are we all present and correct, then?" chirped Mrs Stewart, bearing a heavily laden tray.

"Let me," said Foyle, stepping in to help her, grateful for something to do.

Mrs Stewart poured the drinks and handed around tea cakes. Placing a cup of the strongest looking tea Foyle had ever seen in Rev. Stewart's hands, she said to him firmly but gently, "I've put two sugars in. Now do smile, dear."

He nodded absently.

"Better an older man's darling, than a younger man's slave," quoted Mrs Stewart matter-of-factly in her husband's ear.

He took a hurried sip of his tea.

Foyle took Sam's hand, giving it a small squeeze. "I love you," he mouthed, smiling.

She raised her small glass of the horrible looking cooking sherry. "To us."

"Now, Christopher, I see you still need to sort the matter of the ring," Mrs Stewart said cheerfully, eyes twinkling.

"Er…"

"I have just the thing, if you don't mind me putting my nose in."

"Well," Foyle twitched his lips and looked at Sam, "it is up to Sam. I don't mind."

"Lovely! Samantha, why don't we go have a look, and leave the men for a moment."

The two golden haired ladies rose and left the men, both looking anywhere but each other.

Finally, Foyle cleared his throat, "Thank you for your blessing, sir. It means the world to Samantha, and for that I am grateful."

Rev. Stewart looked rather pale and nodded his head. "Well, it wasn't what I had in mind for my daughter, but she seems so happy that I cannot deny her…how did this happen, Christopher?"

Foyle heard the underlying tone in his voice and saw the worry in the man's face.

"Purely by chance," he said simply. "We worked together for years, became close through that work, and one day realised it was more than we had imagined."

"And have you…" Rev. Stewart looked positively ill now, "You are a gentleman, Christopher, and I expect you to treat my daughter with the respect she deserves."

"I have always, and will continue to, respect Samantha, sir. You have my word."

Rev. Stewart sighed with relief. "Well, that's settled then."

He smiled weakly, taking another sip of his strong tea. "I always worry for Samantha you see, Christopher. She is so headstrong, and I never know what she will do next. There are so many temptations in this world sent to test us."

Foyle was saved from answering by the return of Sam and her mother. Sam sat next to him, taking his hand. He felt something small drop in to his palm. Looking down he saw there lay a silver ring, with small, pale stones set neatly into it.

"It was my grandmother's apparently," said Sam eagerly. "What do you think?"

Foyle picked it up gently, admiring it. He smiled at Sam, taking her hand deftly in his, slipping the ring on her finger.

"If you'll have me," he whispered.

She leant over and kissed his cheek. "Yes."

Mrs Stewart clapped her hands. "Brilliant, well now that is all sorted, let's have lunch and finally get to these drinks."

Sam grinned, raising her glass, "What shall we toast to then?"

She caught his eye, and Foyle felt he could overcome anything from the strength radiating there alone. He saw the happiness twinkling there, dancing and alive in her face. The feeling in his chest swelled and he swallowed hard. Raising his own glass, "To you, my dear Sam."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

They drove back from Lyminster holding hands, only breaking contact when Sam had to change gears.

"We will have to take the car back on Monday, Sam," said Foyle at one point.

"Well, see this as your last duty as a police officer." Sam grinned at him, "Assuring my father of your honourable intentions."

"Really, Sam," Foyle huffed, rolling his eyes.

The afternoon was already drawing in, creating long shadows on the fields. Foyle fingered the new ring on her hand absent-mindedly, tracing the features there.

"I'd like Uncle Aubrey to officiate," said Sam suddenly.

"Of course," said Foyle agreeably.

"Can we go see him tomorrow?"

"Will we be visiting _all_ your uncles, Sam?" asked Foyle, remembering that she had quite a few.

She laughed, "No, indeed not. But he is my favourite uncle and always approved of you."

"Did he now?"

Sam grinned at him, "Oh yes, rather. I suspect if he hadn't pushed gently, and Brookie hadn't pushed a lot, we wouldn't be here now."

"It seems I am indebted to two men, then."

"Well, you were splendid today, Christopher."

Foyle twitched his lips into a soft smile.

"And Mummy thought you were magnificent. You were so witty over lunch and so kind to poor Father."

"Well, I could understand his position. N-not the _easiest_ of days for him."

By this time they were nearing Hastings, the day's light fading low over the old town. With the oncoming darkness, Sam asked if she should stop to put on the blackout covers for the headlights.

"Your billet is nearer — let's go straight there," Foyle suggested.

"Oh," said Sam, her voice suddenly disappointed, "I don't know if my landlady would approve if I asked you in."

"That's all right, I don't need to stay."

"But I want you to," Sam stopped, "unless you want to go home?"

She sounded so unsure of herself, that Foyle quickly patted her hand. "I don't want you getting in to trouble; surely we can ask your landlady if we might have a cup of tea together? We are engaged after all."

"Yes, let's."

Outside Sam's billet, the sun had gone down properly, leaving them fumbling in the dark for keys and hats.

"Watch yourself on the path, Christopher, it's quite uneven." She sounded nervous and Foyle took her hand.

"Why are you anxious, Sam?"

She turned to him on the step. "I want to show you my room."

Foyle stared at her, chewing his lip, wondering what she meant, and thrilled all the same.

"L-let's go in," he said finally.

Inside, Sam called out to her landlady, but there was no answer. She went further into the house, but came back shortly. "No one here," she said.

"You wanted to show me your room?" said Foyle, raising an eyebrow.

He wondered what she had in mind; he would like to see her room because it would be a personal look inside the nature of Sam. He could already guess what it would be like, but wanted to be proved right. Crime novels and powder puffs; tidy and neat.

As it was, he wasn't at all far off. He went into the room, looking around, noting each detail and seeing Sam in them all. A large stack of Agatha Christie novels lay on the small desk, writing paper and pen stored neatly beside it; a wardrobe with door slightly open, revealing soft dresses; an old battered dresser, a low slung chair without arm rests, and a neatly made bed with a yellowish quilt. It was hard to see it all properly in the darkness. He pulled across the blackout curtain, motioning to the lamp. Sam was stood next to the door, unmoving.

"What do you think?"

"I think it is very you, Sam." He gazed at her lovingly across the room and she suddenly laughed.

"Well, it has served it purpose, and at least I haven't been bombed out of this one…yet." She switched on the lamp.

"Have a seat if you like," she said, motioning towards the chair near the window.

Foyle did so, setting his hat on her dresser and saying softly, "I have enjoyed today. I can't wait to start making plans together, Sam."

He looked so at home sitting there, that Sam came towards him, saying softly, "It has been a _wonderful_ day."

Foyle heard the change in her voice, and looked up, biting his lip. She surprised him then by leaning down to kiss him, timidity gone. It was a deep kiss, hungry and eager. Foyle pulled her towards him, finding that her new dress fanned out at the bottom, allowing him to settle her astride his lap. His hands rested on her hips, enjoying the feel of them.

"Is this what you had in mind," he asked softly, "is this why you were anxious?"

"I'm not anxious any more," Sam purred, lips at his ear.

"I never want you to be afraid, Sam. Always know you can talk to me about everything and anything. We will go as slow as you like. There is no pressure."

"I don't want to go slow." She commandeered his lips, taking pleasure from his surprise. "You make me feel…" she paused for a moment against his lips, "…like a woman."

He lost himself in her kisses, allowing himself to forget everything but the young woman he held in his arms. Her tongue sought his and he gasped with pleasure. His hands came up from her hips, finding her breasts. Feeling the small buttons of the dress there, he began to undo them slowly. Sam's breath came more shallowly at this, so he hurried his pace. The front of the pale green dress lay open, revealing silk and soft skin. The dress she had worn for _him_.

"I've wanted to do that all day, my dear Sam."

"And I wanted you to do it; I could hardly drive us home, the way you looked at me." She captured his lips again, smiling against them.

He left her lips to make a trail along her cheek, finding her neck. She leaned back slightly, holding on to his shoulders. He traced a line down to her breasts, kissing softly. Burying his face there with a sigh, he pushed aside the silk and latched on to a taught nipple with his teeth. Sam breathed in sharply, settling herself further in his lap. Foyle hoped she wouldn't be alarmed by his growing desire. He tried to control himself, but her noises of pleasure in his ear only spurred him on.

"Oh, Christopher," Sam murmured, fingers in his hair. "It feels lovely."

"As are you, Sam. Lovely, delightful, tempting…" he bit tenderly again, feeling her back arch against his splayed hands. She began to tremble, and he knew he should stop. He left her breast to find her lips again, whispering, "We should take it easy…"

"The girls in the MTC said there were ways of doing _things_ without…you know…"

"The girls in the MTC said that?"

"I know, my father would have been horrified. Joining the Police was probably safer after all."

Foyle chuckled, "Oh, I don't know about that." He kissed her again, pulling her closer. "The girls were right; I will show you whatever you like…um…we can stop before…well, it's just I want to save _that_ for our wedding night. I promised your father I'd look after you and be a gentleman."

Foyle looked rather red in the face, and Sam grinned at him. "And I seem to remember you saying we'd look after each other?"

"Yes, well." He twitched his lips, "I did give him my word."

"I want to look after you, give you everything, share everything…But I don't know…how…" She looked at him seriously then.

He reminded her of Brookie's advice when he replied, "Don't think, just do what feels natural. We will learn about each other together."

"All right."

She made him forget how to speak just then, as she spread her legs further around him, pressing herself into him. He groaned, hands suddenly in her hair, pulling her against him and bringing her lips to his.

"I love you, Christopher," she said softly against his lips.

Foyle thought he could never tire of hearing her say it. "And I love you, Sam." His hands found her breasts again, delighting in their soft feel. He slid his right hand further down, over her stomach and fumbling with the hem of her dress.

"Do you trust me, Sam?" he asked, voice husky.

She nodded against him, unable to speak. She was no longer trembling, and Foyle felt slightly more in control of himself. At least enough to continue; this was for her.

His hands slid under the hem of her dress, along her thighs, soft and warm. He continued upwards, breath catching as he felt her wetness. Slipping his fingers past the sodden silk, he found the warmth of her, causing her to strain against him with a terrific gasp.

She buried her face in his neck, catching hold of the lobe his ear with her lips. He moved his hand inquisitively, deeper, faster at first, then slipping to find the nub that awaited him. She cried out in his ear, and he gave a soft moan, unable to help himself.

He repeated the motions, pulling her ever closer to him. He could feel her breasts against his chest, her breath at his ear, the straining muscles beneath his ministrations. A low growl rumbled in his throat, and he felt close to the edge. All at once he felt her stiffen and cry out before shaking in his arms uncontrollably.

Foyle smiled, feeling her sink heavily into his arms. "You are beautiful, Sam," he murmured.

She could only nod against his shoulder, breathing rapidly to try and catch her breath. He eased her off his lap, before settling her on his knee. He held her closely, breathing her in; the smell of Sam only quickened his heartbeat, and he tried to think of all sorts of other things to combat his desire.

Just then a noise from downstairs made them jump.

"My landlady," Sam hissed, looking at the door wildly.

But Foyle only grinned and chuckled silently, leaving Sam gaping at him in astonishment.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Again, thank you for the kind reviews and for sticking with this story. It is much appreciated.

* * *

Chapter 11

Sam got up from Foyle's lap, quickly switching off the lamp. They heard footsteps coming up the stairs and Sam held her breath. A soft voice began to sing and the footsteps continued up another flight.

Sam let out her breath in relief with a whoosh, whispering, "It's all right. It's only Milly."

She turned from the lamp to find Foyle's arms coming around her middle. He was still chuckling.

"Are we going to sneak out then?" He asked, "Because I'm rather in no fit state to be seen."

Sam giggled, "Well, in that case..."

She pulled him down beside her on the narrow bed. It squeaked mercilessly and Sam groaned.

"I'm certainly going to be in for the high jump."

"Why don't we have that cup of tea?" Foyle asked. Adding, "In five minutes or so? It _would_ help if you let me up."

Sam didn't answer, but instead found his lips, "Or maybe I should keep you captive here?"

Foyle grinned against her kiss. "Oh?" he murmured.

Her hands were at his back, pulling him to her. She sighed contentedly.

"_N-not_ helping, Sam."

"What do you mean?" she asked lazily, tracing the features of his face with her fingertips.

Foyle pushed his hips gently against hers.

"Oh."

Sam grinned wickedly and slipped a hand between them. Foyle gave an undignified, but hushed, yelp and grabbed her wrist.

"_Really_, Sam. Your landlady might be home any minute."

"But…I'm curious…"

"Yes, well. Curiosity killed the cat, so they say."

Sam laughed and kissed his cheek, sitting up. "Tea it is then."

Going to the window, Foyle opened it carefully, letting the cool night air wash over him. Sam came to stand next to him.

"Can we be married as soon as possible?"

Foyle snorted. "We'll have to be at this rate."

She gave him a dig in the ribs before saying seriously, "I don't want anything fancy; I don't want to deliberate over place settings or who to invite. I just want to begin our life together. That's all that matters."

He put an arm around her. "We'll do just that, then."

"What about Andrew?"

"I'll telephone his Wing Commander. See if he can't get some compassionate leave."

"He'll think we've gone mad."

"He'll come around."

A thump from above roused them from their hushed talk.

"Quick, downstairs, _now_," said Foyle firmly, propelling Sam for the door.

****

* * *

The swinging doors into the station thumped, causing Sergeant Brooke to look up from his logbook.

"Miss Stewart," he said beaming, "how lovely to see you."

Sam was positively glowing, and out of uniform she looked bright and fresh. The station was quiet and it was clear he was glad of the distraction. He leaned on the desk towards her.

She grinned at him, but put up a hand, "I'm not staying, Brookie, just returning the Wolseley."

His face fell, "Oh, I see."

"I'm not coming back to work with the Police."

His face was a picture of disappointment and questions.

Sam leaned in towards him, saying conspiratorially, "We — Mr Foyle and I — are to be married, Brookie!"

"Goodness, well that's wonderful. When?"

"Soon. My place has always been beside him in work, and now, well… it will remain so. I'm resigning from the MTC as well."

"What will you do with yourself?"

"I'm hoping the WVS will help me find a place; I still want to be useful and help the war effort."

Brookie nodded, feeling a bit sad that an unknown DCS would be coming in, and Sam would no longer be around.

He looked up suddenly, "Congratulations! I should have said it sooner…"

Sam came around the desk to stand beside him, "Thank you, Brookie." She lay a hand on his arm, "And not just for…you know…"

He nodded, smiling at her. "It won't be the same around here, love."

"I will miss it. And you all. I know Chris—Mr Foyle will too. Police work was his life."

"Yes, I can't imagine not being a Policeman," mused Brookie.

"Is Milner in yet? I wanted to tell him, and to say goodbye."

"No, it's still early."

"True. I couldn't sleep, so here I am."

Brookie gave her a quizzical smirk.

She coloured, "I don't think I will be able to sleep properly for the rest of the week, if I'm honest, Brookie."

"Nerves?"

"Not entirely. Too excited perhaps."

"Cuppa?" he asked, motioning with his head towards the kitchenette.

"Rather! I haven't even had breakfast yet."

"Oh? Well that will never do."

"We were away most of the weekend — I wanted to see my parents and tell them. And I'm going to Christopher's later. I didn't have a moment to look at the shops. Not that I expect there will be much in them…"

Brookie busied himself with the tea. He rattled a tin, "Might be something in here for you?"

Sam opened it eagerly before looking at him, "Brookie?"

"Hmm," he hummed in acknowledgement.

"Will you come to the wedding? I wanted to ask you to drive…if you wouldn't mind?"

He turned to her with a soft smile, "I should be delighted, Miss Stewart."

Sam saw a brightness come into his eyes and she stood, hugging him to her.

"You are a darling, and I won't ever forget the friendship you've shown me. I am so grateful."

He gave her a squeeze, "You are a breath of fresh air in these dark times, Sam. I won't forget you either, you know. I am so very happy for you, lovely girl."

Sam felt her throat constrict.

"Now, a cuppa and a chat, and then we'd best send you on your way." He broke away from her, handing her a steaming cup.

He added with a cheeky grin, "It wouldn't be Monday morning if you didn't knock on his door, now would it?"

"Speaking of doors; we had quite a fright from my landlady. It would have been jolly funny if I hadn't been so worried. She's a bit of dragon at times."

Brookie snorted, "Getting up to no good?" He waggled his eyebrows before laughing again.

She gave him a push, "No, you rotter. I asked him in for a cup of tea, then showed him my…where I live. We rather… er…forgot the time." She ignored another of Brookie's snorts.

"Anyway, just as we returned downstairs, my landlady came through the door. He jammed on his hat before she could see him, as if we had only just come in from outside."

"Always a quick thinker, our Mr Foyle," said Brookie with a smirk.

Sam put on a mimicking high voice, "Mr Foyle, what are you doing here? Miss Stewart isn't in some sort of pickle again is she?"

Brookie chuckled.

Sam continued, "Well he said no, of course, but that he had been offered a cup of tea. She invited him in, and he explained we were going to be married. She was astounded. I don't understand why people keep looking so shocked."

"That's their trouble, innit?" Brookie said sensibly.

"I suppose so." Sam traced the rim of her tea cup, suddenly slightly subdued. "I don't like people to think badly of him though."

Brookie smiled, "Trust you to think of him first. Don't you worry a bit about what others think. You love each other, yeah? That's all that matters."

"Right as always, Brookie. I'll try not to think of them."

Milner suddenly made them both jump by putting his head around the corner.

"Morning, you two. Any tea left for me?"

Sam sprang up, seizing his hand. "Paul, I want to tell you something, come sit down."

He allowed himself to be dragged into the small space, sitting down awkwardly on the chair. He gave her a half smile, "What is it, Sam? Are you going to be my driver now?"

"No, nothing like that. Mr Foyle and I are engaged to be married, and we want you to be there at the wedding." She said this quickly, searching his face.

For a worried moment, she thought he too would be shocked, but instead his face brightened into a smile that she hadn't seen him give in a long time.

"But that's wonderful!" He beamed at her proudly. "And about time."

Sam spluttered, "What?"

"It was clear as day, Sam." Milner grinned as her mouth dropped.

She rounded on Brookie, "Did you…?"

He held up his hands, "Weren't me!"

Milner took one of her hands and patted it gently. "I'm not Detective Sergeant for nothing…and _how_ long have we worked together, Sam?" He winked.

"Oh, I'm so pleased that you are both pleased," Sam said, feeling all of a muddle, and wondering whether crying would be awfully silly. Milner gave her hand a squeeze.

Sam did allow a few tears to slip across her cheek, gazing back fondly at the two men who had been as much a part of her life as the one waiting for her on Steep Lane. What a time they'd had all together. She gave a watery smile; yes, what a jolly grand time it had been.


End file.
